


Dreams

by raiyana



Series: The Dwelf series [36]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dworin Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 10:31:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Sometimes, Thorin is the one who takes care of Dwalin.





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Let it be known that I know zilch about PTSD aside from the name.

He woke with a scream. Large hands were strangling an unfortunate blanket, as the dwarf bellowed his agony into the void of years passed. Beside him, another dwarf lay quietly, knowing better than to move for a moment. Instead, he hummed, deep and soothing, his voice filling the bedchamber as the last echoes of the scream died. When the warrior who had screamed crumbled against his knees, his dark-haired companion calmly reached to his bedside, scrambling for his tinderbox and lighting a candle with hands that shook only slightly. He kept humming. It was an old song, almost a lullaby, one he had written many years before, for the very dwarf who was still trembling, his forehead pressed tight against his fists as he battled the demons in his head. The candle illuminated blue eyes, filled with sadness and a touch of worry, the dark-haired dwarf leaving it burning as he picked up a small cup, filling it from the pitcher beside it.

“Thorin…” Dwalin whispered hoarsely. His hands groped blindly for the body beside him, and Thorin nimbly slid back into the bed, letting the large palms find his chest, running over the strongly muscles, feeling the dips and ridges of his topography. He was still humming. When Dwalin’s hand finished its journey, it had searched all of his torso for a wound that had never been his, Thorin knew, feeling the warmth of strong fingers coming to rest over his heartbeat, feeling the strong beat beneath his skin. Dwalin shuddered once, his hand resting lightly on Thorin’s chest, separated from skin by only a thin undershirt. Minutes passed, as neither moved, just listening to the sound of the gentle humming and Dwalin’s slowly calming breathing. When Dwalin’s shoulders had relaxed as much as he knew they would, Thorin slid his fingers between Dwalin’s, gripping his hand tightly.

“You have not screamed so for more than a year, **halwmugrê **[1]**** ,” he whispered. “I had hoped that your dreams were finally gone for good.” Sliding his other hand up along the taut muscles of Dwalin’s back, he sat slowly, rubbing along the warrior’s spine. Dwalin sighed.

“I didn’t hurt you?” he whispered fearfully. Dwalin always asked this – with good reason. He had never hit Thorin, but the times when others would try to wake him from the battle-dreams he suffered he had attacked whoever was before him. Balin’s solution was to poke him with a long broom-handle, but Thorin knew it was better to let Dwalin wake on his own, let him come to the realisation of his surroundings slowly, return from wherever his memories had sent him. With Dwalin’s strength, his concern that he might harm someone inadvertently was less fear and more of a disturbingly real possibility. They had set the lads down as soon as they were old enough to understand it and explained that if they ever found Dwalin thrashing in his sleep or crying out, they should get Thorin or Frís or one of the other adults, never try to wake him. Thorin shook his head, pressing a soft kiss against Dwalin’s bare shoulder.

“You were thrashing for some minutes before you woke, **madtûnê **[2]****.” Dwalin released a shuddering breath at his words, drawing their intertwined hands to his own chest and letting Thorin wrap his arms around him in a hug that was as much meant as comfort for Thorin as it was comfort for Dwalin. The two sat for a long time, Thorin plastered along Dwalin’s back as his strong arms encircled him. One hand was idly playing with the steel-bar that pierced Dwalin’s nipple. Pressing kisses against Dwalin’s neck, Thorin felt the tension bleed out of his taut frame. “Will you let me hold you tonight,” he whispered against Dwalin’s pulse, “or do you wish to get up?” Sometimes, the only escape from the images that haunted him was to lose himself in touch, but other times Dwalin craved motion, often taking off for a long run or heading to the sparring rings to practise his forms until his body could take no more.

“It was Frerin,” Dwalin whispered, feeling the tremor the name always inspired in his beloved, “though he was too late this time, and I had to watch you – both of you – lie together, as you stared at the grey sky and could not see me.” Thorin just hummed gently, continuing to hold the scarred warrior he loved. He wished he could take away the memories that haunted Dwalin, give him his own dreamless sleep, though he also knew Dwalin would never accept such a gift even if it were possible. “Thorin.”

“Mmhmm?” Thorin hummed, continuing to place kisses along Dwalin’s neck. It wasn’t overtly sexual, though he never minded the nights the dreams ended with him doing his level best to make Dwalin forget with pleasure, just simple comfort; assuring himself that Dwalin was with him, as well as wordless reassurance that he did not think his beloved weak.

“I want to see you.” Dwalin asked, squeezing the fingers of the hand he still held. Thorin murmured soft consent, and swiftly found himself repositioned in Dwalin’s lap. One of the warrior’s strong arms was wrapped around his back, while the other was trapped between them, still clinging to his hand. Tonight would be different, then, he knew, unsurprised when Dwalin’s shaved head landed heavily on his shoulder. Warm tears flowed silently onto his shoulder, but Thorin simply returned to his previous occupation, pressing gentle kisses against Dwalin’s neck, his jaw, his badly-bitten ear. His free hand was rubbing soothing circles into Dwalin’s back, his legs spread as he straddled Dwalin’s bulk. When Dwalin’s hand made it underneath his shirt, searching out his heartbeat from both sides, Thorin made a small sound of assent, but otherwise allowed the warrior’s hand to roam as it pleased.

 

 

Minutes or hours later, Dwalin leaned back against the pillows, calm once more. Looking at Thorin, still sprawled on his chest, made him chuckle lightly. Thorin nipped him gently for it, turning the chuckle into a low laugh. “You are like a cat,” Dwalin whispered. “All licks and purring and soft fur.”

“Want to feel my claws?” Thorin asked drowsily, quite content to drift off where he was; even if his legs would not thank him in the morning. Dwalin kissed his forehead, easily moving his languid body until Thorin was once more beside him, before wrapping his arms around his lover, pulling him tight against his wide chest.

“No, Thorin,” he murmured. “Just sleep.”

 

 

 

[1] My honey-bear.

[2] My brave one.

**Author's Note:**

> When Dwalin told Ori that it was alright to wake up crying, this was what he meant.


End file.
